


in the middle of a nothing voice

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Garreg Mach Monastery Setting, Hurt/No Comfort, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Other, Set Post-Timeskip, ambiguous time period, discussion of relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 02:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20734904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: i’m so sorry.





	in the middle of a nothing voice

**Author's Note:**

> i’m so sorry.

“It’s a sign of depression.” 

Linhardt blinks. “What?”

“Sleeping too much,” Byleth says, walking their fingers slowly down the podium before scaling them over the edge, leaning forward. “Not sleeping enough or sleeping too often indicate chemical imbalances in the brain.”

They stare at Linhardt in that inscrutable way unique to them alone before an imperceptible flicker sharpens beneath their lashes. Rising from his bench in the center of the classroom, positioned at the exact angle where Byleth’s gaze wanders between statements, Linhardt approaches the podium assuming the forbidding posture of a dutiful pupil.

Only when his forehead leans into Byleth’s direct line of vision does he speak, his fingers resting between their outspread hands: “Tell me, Professor: if I no longer cared for living, would I trouble myself with the tedium of taking you to bed?”

Against Linhardt’s mouth, Byleth sighs, their jaw frozen open in unraveling silence.

By now, everyone’s probably shoveled down their supper portions in the dining hall. News of their absence, Linhardt suspects, captivates eavesdroppers who in turn engage their friends who then befriend strangers who in so doing relay the gossip back to its origin.

He’d thought such behaviour beneath his companions before he’d met certain petty ne’er-do -wells upholding facades of faultless nobility.

“Don’t speak of this.”

Turning, their breath swiping down Linhardt’s ear, hot, Byleth rounds the podium, a smattering of colour slanting across their cheekbones.

Without gazing at their retreating cape, Linhardt says, “Must you  _ care  _ what they think?”

Wincing, he curses himself as his words, those of a hypocrite, spoken in an uncharacteristic tone of commanding power free from drowsy languor, echo through the unending silence. 

He hears rippling fabric shudder against itself, breathes in as a familiar tread lances down the aisle, stills when the same hot breath coats the back of his neck, stops thinking when Byleth’s right arm cinches around his stomach in an effort to allow their hand uninterrupted access to his undergarments, roughly peeling them down his shoulder.

“Believe it or not,” Byleth says, their voice not of this earth, “I don’t.”

_ Liar!  _ Cutting off a grateful moan, Linhardt’s hands wrench against the podium as Byleth folds themselves against him, teeth sinking into the nervy thread of skin running along the left side of Linhardt’s collarbone.

“My concern,” Byleth says in between contemplative bites, “lies in whether or not your intelligence can withstand what you do to me.”

Laughing in soundless gulps of air, Linhardt pushes himself off of the podium, swiftly turning to face a pleasingly disheveled Byleth, their normally austere attire lovingly rumpled, want staining reddened lips.

“You really don’t know me at all,” Linhardt says, smiling, covering themselves, albeit reluctantly. He’s surprised he can form coherent thoughts, blood blooming beneath his skin, bruises snaking into violet hollows. “If you can fuck me with pretty words when we’re all alone, why can’t you court me?”

There it is: the impassive, immovable, imposing blankness that shutters through Byleth’s gaze whenever one happens to broach matters of the heart.

-

Minutes pass before Linhardt follows them out of the classroom, altogether empty, his right hand scaling his neck with a displaced fondness. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project (including the LLF Comment Builder), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:  
Short comments  
Long comments  
Questions  
“<3” as extra kudos  
Reader-reader interaction  
This author replies to comments.


End file.
